maybe it's not worth being a wreck
to have a discourse, be an addict
until one o'clock. narcolepsy
chases me back to bed
& back to bed & back
because it's safer there
it's where i think things over
avoid you & return with all
my great mistakes at hand,
& realise what i've missed
& how pedestrian i really am

i've been trying to unlock a most stubborn door
applying plaster to the places that just won't meet,
dead roses mean the greatest thing
on windy days, in courtyards
by the fountain. don't mind
getting wet, maybe this
will save me the tears.

the best dialogue is infinitely rehearsed
you know, like phone conversations
where i'm all wit. all sarcastic
curses, all this. because i don't know
how many dragons i've slayed this year,
how many times i've decided to drown
& rise from the dead because i forget
the value of a very good death.

i've worn the same shirt
the same blue jeans
for three days straight
i think this is the residue
of eradicating you. & am
mightily afraid that the
next shirt, the next
pair of jeans will mean
a rather different thing

you know, i don't mind if you
accost me in the oval, taking
my shoes out of the paper bin,
or listen to my script of
operatic exclamations;
this whole dilemma
would be antique

lose all the questions, for i
don't even want to know the answers.
i keep crossing stray cats &
their lucky china warnings are enough
to warrant this behaviour, to remain
waiting with agitated veins. split
only by the speed with which
blood would freely flow, freely go
whenever you are a row behind,
a lifetime behind

& if i accidently beat you with
latent, vainglorious words
forgive me. regret me.

i've been cutting holes in my bedspread,
in the shape of broken bones &
lovehearts made of fool's gold.